Lifetime
by Nightmares Grace
Summary: A series of little stories from the Salvatore's past, ranging from their childhood in Florence to... well anything else they may have done in their 500 some years. Rated T for Damon's bad-arsey-ness ;
1. Envy

_A/N: In my World History class the other day we were discussing how most people didn't name their children until they were about three or five, because the mortality rate was so high. So, I guess as the thought popped into my mind some plot bunnies formed._

Damon sat on the edge of his mother's bed swinging his legs as he clutched the bedpost for support. He glanced over at his father noting with envy how his feet touched the wooden floorboards with ease. He wished he were taller, towering over the other children with supremacy.

It was a weekday morning and normally at this time he would be trailing behind his father, learning the art of his trade or meeting with some important persons, but today was special. The doctor and priest had arrived the day before, examining his younger brother's rosy cheeks and pudgy form before declaring he was healthy, and they expected many more years out of him. The youngest Salvatore was almost five, and it was well about time he received a name.

His mother laid on the bed, the unnamed child in her arms. Her cheeks were flushed and wet, although Damon couldn't quite understand why. It was a cool winter day, and he had wrapped an extra piece of clothing around him to keep himself warm. She looked over at his father, Giuseppe, and smiled. "Do you have any suggestions?"

Giuseppe paused, and looked around the room. "What about Valentino? After the servant who fetched the doctor?"

Damon's mother held her breath and looked at her eldest son. "We already named Damon after one of our servants," she said making his cheeks burn. "Why don't we name him after your brother?"

Damon fidgeted on the couch. He never was proud of his name; it was in remembrance of his mother's favorite servant who died during a revolt in the forum. He knew it was meant to be honorable, but he was an aristocrat! Servants should be named after _him._

"What do you think?" Giuseppe asked, turning to his dark-haired son.

Hesitating, Damon glanced at the wooden cross sitting atop his mother's bed. She followed his gaze, and her lip twitched. "We should name him after a saint," she said. "Today is December 26, Saint Stephen's day," she pointed out.

Giuseppe beamed, although by his constant fidgeting Damon began to think he was tiring of this naming process. "Sounds lovely," he said and leaned forward to kiss both Stephen and his wife on the cheek. "I hate to leave," he said promptly, "but I do have work to do… Damon, we're late." He gripped Damon's wrist tightly and pulled him off the bed. "Say good-bye."

Damon held a fake smile and waved to his mother. Why was he being named after a saint? He looked at the chubby little boy sitting on his mother's lap. Short and stocky, slightly cross-eyed; that wasn't saint material. Damon was closer to being a saint then that little boy would ever be.


	2. Saint

_A/N: Short, but ah well. I really wanted to do something on the origins of Stefan's name. (: _

Damon curled his fingers around the doorknob, careful not to make a sound as he inched it open. He made sure to keep all his defenses up, in case a maid or his father came around the corner. He wasn't suppose to see his mother anymore, but who would it hurt if went in for a little visit?

"You're not aloud in there."

Damon shot into the air, spinning around on his heel. He let out a hiss catching sight of his little brother, standing innocently before him. "Who are you to say what I can and cannot do Stefan?"

The young Salvatore crinkled his nose. "Father told you to stop calling me that. My name's Stephen, after the saint."

"You're no saint," Damon growled shoving his brother back with a good hard push. "You shouldn't even be part of this family. No one wants to be related to a low-life like you."

Stefan looked hurt, his large eyes wet. "I'll tell Father you said-"

"Oh grow up," Damon snorted. "How old are you now? Six and still can't read or write? What a lame excuse for a Salvatore you are."

Stefan clenched his hands into small fists. "I hope some day you get what's coming to you, Damon."

He couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Is that a threat from God, Saint Stephen?"

Pursing his lips Stefan jutted out his round jaw. "Maybe. Guess you'll have to wait and see."

Damon laughed. "Right. I'm sure you'll be some hell-raiser."

"It's not me who's going to be raising hell," Stefan mumbled. "It's you."


End file.
